


Some stories are written in blood

by Aki_of_Eyluvial



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Character Death, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 23:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aki_of_Eyluvial/pseuds/Aki_of_Eyluvial
Summary: Some stories, they knew it deep down, were written in blood; it did not matter when they happened, or how, nor why. Blood was how those stories always ended.[...]“How I wished it could have been different this time. - He was so close to tears, so close to breaking down, so close to reaching out for him, beg him to grab his hand so he could try to save him. So close. - Tybalt.”[...]In the end some stories are written in the blood of the fallen by those who survive. Little it matters if the fallen are innocent or guilty.A small Reincarnation AU where some things never change.





	Some stories are written in blood

Some stories, they knew it deep down, were written in blood; it did not matter when they happened, or how, nor why. Blood was how those stories always ended.

It felt strange the first time. When Lorenzo first saw his baby brother, when they met Sandro and took him in their family like he had always been there, when they met Francesco and an old, unspoken, forgotten in time, rivalry came back to the surface.

There are stories written and destined to end in blood, and their story is one of them, they can fight and try to defy fate but it would never work. Not for them.

Some days Lorenzo could swear he lived another life, some mornings he would wake up with the lingering memory of a dream that’s already fading from his mind, a dream of another city, another life, other people he’s so sure he used to know and yet those names are foreign to him. He never spoke of those dreams with Giuliano, or anyone at all, they’re just dreams after all.

The day Sandro saw Giuliano for the first time he had a strange feeling, something buried inside him pushed him toward the Medici boy, he wanted so, _so_ , much to pull him in a hug and never let go. It was almost like a piece of an old puzzle finally found its place. And between this excitement, this happiness he could barely contain, there was a sense of dread he couldn’t shake off. There was fear when he looked over at him, a deep and hidden fear he was going to lose him one day. _Again._ It was strange, and mostly stupid because they’d just met, how could have he lost him already before? And yet the feeling was there and only Giuliano’s body pressed against his, warm and alive, could keep it away.

Francesco was a question to everyone –  _Everyone but his brother._ \- he could go from being the kindest person, with a soft smile that could melt even the hardest heart, _that melted_ _Lorenzo more times than he could recall_ , to the hardest look, cold and dangerous. All that in a couple of seconds. Giuliano hated him, he wasn’t even quiet in his hate, why being so? Everyone already knew after all.

There was rivalry, there was jealousy, and while others may think those things would disappear growing up, it didn’t happen for them. If possible, his hate became even more and Francesco hated him back.

And silently they all thought it wasn’t for the first time, but kept it for themselves.

Some stories end up in blood and in a rush of memories that comes flooding back just as the end arrives.

Francesco wanted to feel sick the moment the blade went through Giuliano’s chest, not because of regret or because of the blood, _no_. It was something else. For a moment he felt the same pain in his own body, every time he drew the dagger inside it was like stabbing himself. - _Only later, with a rope around his neck, he would remember and realize it was a blade from another time that hurt him so much. Only later he recognized in Lorenzo the eyes that haunted his dreams and killed him every time. Oh, how he had always loved those eyes, now and in every life before, how they could drive him mad for jealousy, how he wished he would look at him with love. How he wished for that to be real._ -

It was a moment and nothing else, Sandro’s world broke in a thousand pieces as Giuliano was lying on the floor of the Cathedral. He wasn’t sure anymore if that pain was his or someone’s else, everything was blurred together, everything was showed down in his body; he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted, and he felt a pang of shame for that because it wasn’t like him to thing something like that, to _kill_ the man, the _traitor_ , that killed Giuliano. _His_ Giuliano, his lover, _his life_.

As he fell on his knees and with trembling hands he reached for his bloodied body, he understood that old feeling he felt from the first time, that fear that almost drove him mad. He understood now it wasn’t just in his head, it wasn’t just a stupid fear. It was a memory. Suddenly he saw himself, but different nevertheless, falling at Giuliano’s side, it was Giuliano, he knew, but he had a different name, he knew that too, _Mercutio_ , he remembered saying it with so much affection and love, it wasn’t Giuliano’s name and yet it felt right, reaching for his body, holding him close and crying over his still, bloodied chest.

It felt strange for a moment, then both lives merged in that one single moment and Sandro broke down in tears.

There was rage. Lorenzo could feel it grow inside himself, surrounding him, swallow him and leaving him wander in its darkness. And after darkness everything exploded in fire. His brother was dead, his Giuliano, his little brother. Killed by someone he trusted, someone he called friend, _even called brother_ , someone he _loved_. Hanging him didn’t felt enough, there was a voice screaming in his head, claiming a revenge he too wished, a voice it wasn’t his own and yet it was.

“We were friends, Francesco.” And they were, he knew, they used to be. And even worse, he loved him so dearly it hurt. But he shed no tears, he kept them all inside himself, he didn’t even allowed his voice to break. For a moment he almost drew his sword and killed him right where he stood, for a moment he saw hi hand moving, the sword plunging in his chest, for a moment he saw his eyes widen in surprise and pain, and maybe fear, he heard a strangled noise as life left his body. _For a moment_. But that was another life, he realized, that life he sometimes dreamt of, that life with other names in another city. A life that somehow ended in the same way.

“How I wished it could have been different this time. - _He was so close to tears, so close to breaking down, so close to reaching out for him, beg him to grab his hand so he could try to save him. So close._ \- Tybalt.” Oh, how many years, how many lives had gone by since he whispered that name aloud. That name that haunted his dreams, that name he knew was real and to who it belonged, but he’d been careful never to let it slip out of his mouth, and now, whispering it he realized it wasn’t just a dream he had, not just _his_ strange, impossible dream. Because Francesco looked up at him with understanding, like he knew the name, like he recognized it as his own.

“But it can’t.” It was all he said before Lorenzo sentenced him to death, before he was brought to the window and pushed down, before the rope closed around his neck and everything disappeared in darkness.

In the end some stories are written in the blood of the fallen by those who survive. Little it matters if the fallen are innocent or guilty.

Lorenzo wrapped his arms around Sandro in the same way he did for Giuliano when he had lost Simonetta, he held the young artist in his arms and let him cry. And before he could realize tears rolled down his cheeks too, those tears he blinked away in front of Francesco. He knew they’re for his brother and yet his mind kept going back to Francesco, to his face, to that smile he had or his laugh in those days they were free and happy. He had lost his brother and sentenced his lover to death, in no more than a couple of hours. So he cried and held Sandro trying to find comfort in each other.

 

 

In the end,  _the very end_ , some stories never change, not in the long run. Maybe there are details, maybe there are names, _not that time around though_ , but blood is always there. But sometimes some people makes some choices that let the story take a different turn.

In the end, in every life, Lorenzo was always left behind in tears and grief. But maybe, _just maybe_ , this would be the last end.

The knife went through his chest easily, he would have said it took him by surprise but it wasn’t entirely true, he knew it was coming, he knew when and from who. He knew because he was supposed to help carry on this killing and he knew he could never. Because that young man he was supposed to kill, the man he was now dying for, was _his_. He loved him, like he loved him before in every life, sometimes knowing it, sometimes hiding it, sometimes requited, sometimes masked in hate, but he had always loved him.

In the end, as the attackers fled, and he fell back quickly caught by Lorenzo, with Sandro not far from them, arms wrapped around Giuliano’s arm trying to keep him from running after them, and other voices, unknown voices, screaming for an ambulance, he knew that things were already different and he couldn’t help but smile.

“This time, - _Lorenzo hushed him gently keeping the hands on the wound, but Francesco didn’t listen to him._ \- let us defy destiny.” He whispered, blood dripping from his lips down his chin. Lorenzo shook his head, tears threatening to cloud his vision, he knew what he was talking about, Giuliano and Sandro knew that too. It was the first time in all their lives it happened, the first time Francesco didn’t kill Giuliano and Lorenzo didn’t get revenge on him.

“My Romeo.” Francesco smiled, his fingers barely brushing Lorenzo’s wet cheek before falling limp on the ground. _Defy destiny_ , he said, but at what cost?

 

In the end some stories always ends up in blood but sometimes, once in a million years, a little change can break the cycle. And yet, some stories are bound to be tragedies.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I received a lovely prompt from [Yoo-Yaa](https://yoo-yaa.tumblr.com/), could I really pass the chance to write some angst? (No, don't bother answer, thanks, I know already.).  
> It was supposed to be more evident the love between Giuliano and Sandro (Mercutio and Benvolio too) but that was all I could take out of that little brain of mine. I hope you all will like it anyway.
> 
> Requests are always open and welcome, both here and on my tumblr ([Aki](https://aki-draws-things.tumblr.com/). As always, I don't write sex scenes, and yes, I moslty write angst (though sometimes I give a happy ending too.). Feel free to ask! <3 
> 
> ~Aki~


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